


Fading

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Frontotemporal Dementia, Gen, Post Season 3, Sad, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Spoilers) This was the worst feeling in the world.</p><p>And in some way, it felt worse than Allison's death. And that had been like getting stabbed through the heart five thousand times. But, Allison had died so quickly, so most of the mourning happened after her death.</p><p>But with Stiles....Scott had to mourn him before he was even gone. Because Stiles has dementia. And Stiles is dying...slowly and in the most painful way imaginable.</p><p>And Scott can't even take his pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT: this is set at the end of Season 3. If you don't know what happened, come back when you do :)

It had just started with him forgetting his keys.

Now, Stiles had never been the most focused person, with his ADHD and generally hyperactive personality...so he just frowned and brushed it off.

The only reason he really remembered that moment was because he had forgotten the keys to his jeep. And his jeep was his baby...well, as much a baby as a seventeen year old boy could have.

But it was the only firm normality in his life.

 

His life continued to twist and turn more than any other teenage boy. Hell, his best friend was a werewolf and they were in a pack with two werewolves, a Coyote, a Kitsune's daughter and banshee...no hunters though.

At least, not anymore.

But, life continued on. They all began to resume the normal stresses of adolescence. School, Homework and Relationships. Nobody felt like stirring up some supernatural trouble, and would simply wait until Beacon Hills needed them again.

And besides, it didn't feel right to continue on as a pack when part of it was missing.

But pack ties held stronger than anything, and they still stayed strong - as a single unit - through their pain.

"Hey Scott?" he questioned one evening with the pack. They were all laying on the floor, strewn over mattresses and blankets...having one massive sleepover. It was something normal wolf packs did as instinct, and it was no different for this pack.

Scott was next to him, body curled around Stiles' right arm. Behind Scott was Lydia, but, only their ankles were touching. They left a space between them...a space that would never be filled again. Her back was pressed against Kira's, who still didn't feel very comfortable in their pack and slept on her own.

 

Maila was on Stiles' opposite side, and she had her head on Stiles' chest, listening to him breathe. Issac was curled between Scott and Stiles' legs, and had been silent since their dear hunters death. Stiles could argue that Issac had taken her death the hardest...because he had never really been a very strong willed person.

He honestly reminded Stiles of a puppy. The werewolf part irrelevant.

 

Derek sat in the lounge chair above them, watching over them all. He was like their guardian and protector at the moment, looking after them in their collective grief. Even though he wasn't an Alpha anymore...he sure felt like it. He was the oldest and wisest of them all, especially when it came to werewolves and other supernatural matters.

Hell, he had killed when they were all still in elementary school.

Still, all of them had seemed to become closer in the absence of their hunter and friends...Even Derek and Stiles. The man seemed to trust him more after the Kate incident. And, while they still held a continual banter between them...Derek had begun to tolerate Stiles a bit. Just a tiny bit.

And Stiles had decided it was one of his greatest accomplishments.

"Yeah?" The True Alpha replied, face buried in Stiles' side and comforting himself with Stiles' familiar scent. He smelled like honey, just like the colour counterpart woven into his chocolate eyes.

Scott hadn't adapted well to this new pack life...but he was slowly moving forward.

Slowly.

"I reckon we should all do something" he said, sparking Scott's interest.

"Yeah, like what? It's like 11pm Stiles" he sighed.

"Well that's never stopped us before!" Stiles exclaimed, turning to look at the boy he considered his brother.

Scott didn't reply, only looking up at him lazily.

"Like Soccer! We could just go out the back, use that old scabby ball my old pops has and do something active! Get the blood pumping!"

"Pretty soon my blood will be pumping in rage if you don't shut the hell up" Derek growled, and Stiles craned his neck to look over Malia's head, observing the oldest of them all.

When he looked at Derek he didn't feel the sense of superiority from the male like the two Werewolves and Coyote did.

(Their pack was seriously lacking in werewolves right now.)

But he sure as hell felt a sense of belonging. Derek was the foundation of this pack...because in all honesty, Scott wasn't exactly Alpha material. At least not right now. He didn't posses the ability to shut away his emotions for the good of his pack, but nobody really expected him to. He was just seventeen like the rest of the kids.

Derek radiated an aura of comfort and protectiveness from his body, and they just instinctively knew that he was in charge right now. Stiles could feel the mans watchful eyes on them all. Plus, it was nice to be reminded that you belonged somewhere. Just like where Stiles belonged in the pack.

He was was human. And while Kira was kinda human too...she really didn't count. What other human teenage girl could say they could kick ass with a katana and have a Kitsune for a mother?

Not many.

So really, he was the weak and vulnerable one...but he did have his own superpower. He was the....wait for it....

Smartest.

Yes, geeky as hell. It was like a superpower some nerd from Mrs Frizzles Crazy Adventures would have. But that was all the big guy up there had granted him with. So yeah, he and Lydia were the brains to their brawn. (Don't tell Kira and Malia he called them the brawn. They would kick his ass)

It was all a very nice structure of comfort.

But only when Derek wasn't pissed off...which was basically never. Except pack snuggle time. Like now. But still, it seemed Stiles had pissed him off yet again.

Isaac whined at Stiles' knee, voicing his discomfort in the aura the previous Alpha was obviously radiating. No more warm and fuzzy Derek.

"Okay, okay. Chill out Sourwolf." Stiles said, grinning.

Derek growled a little at the nickname, before snorting at the boy. "Go to sleep Stiles" he said, reclining in his chair. "Now is not the time to get all hyperactive. You all have school tomorrow."

End of the Spring break = Back to High School.

Joy.

There was a collective groan at the dreaded word, and Stiles begrudgingly relaxed against Malia and Scott...trying to settle his ADHD. He really needed to stop forgetting to take his medication. He seemed to be forgetting to take it a lot more lately.

...among other things.

____

Then it was the mood swings.

Again, brushed off. This time because of his teenager-ness. Hormones and all that shit. And, his friends didn't really blame him after everything that had happened to them and to him. Especially him.

All of them were slowly adapting to life without Allison. And Stiles was getting used to living without a voice inside his head.

 

Even the smallest things could freak him out. Like the shadow cast by a moving curtain or the sound of a door banging shut. He would always jump at every sound or movement, and it didn't escape the notice of his friends.

Pack snuggle time had become a little bit more centred around Stiles. Every Sunday they would all come over and sleep together before the new week began. Almost like a rinse and repeat cycle, cleansing them and rebooting them for another week without Allison, Aiden and all the others that were now gone.

Stiles could legitimately write a list on all the people they had lost. And the sad thing was that he couldn't count them all on one hand.

But he guessed that was what happened when you associated yourself with the supernatural.

Originally, Stiles couldn't get over how cool it was that his best friend was now virtually a superhero. He thought it was the most awesome thing to happen to them.

And then he realised what came with it. Because not all werewolves were nice. And, mean werewolves weren't the only supernatural occurrence they had to worry about. The other supernatural bitty-boops generally weren't necessarily all that nice either.

Actually...all them were insane in one way or another. Like, dude...Kitsune's. Kira's mother had wished chaos and destruction upon the world...and don't even get him started on Nogitsune's.

But, she was probably the least insane supernatural creature they'd met so far. So yeah, anyway. Not all as cool as he expected.

Back to snuggle time.

He nearly was always in the middle nowadays. His pack surrounded him and protected him in his fragile state. He wasn't necessarily physically fragile or in any physical pain they could make go away..but his mind and emotions were a different story. His mind was still in shambles from the Nogitsune, and he was slowly rebuilding his mental barriers.

And when it came to the mind, only he could help himself. Werewolves can't take away mental or emotional trauma/pain.

But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. It just hurt in a different way.

But it was seeming to take much longer than he had expected. And his emotions were completely out of whack. And if he hadn't been a moody teen with supernatural elements surrounding him everyday...he would have thought it strange.

But one of their closest friends had died, and it was indirectly because of him. Both of them were actually his fault if you looked hard enough...

So he hadn't thought it strange at all.

______

 

But then it was his vision.

And this time...Stiles freaked out.

 

One morning he had woken up worse than he ever had. He had literally stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, rubbing his eyes constantly. He had prepared his cereal with the same level of energy.

But, when he ate...something unusual happened.

 

Stiles was like a child when it came to cereal. On that day it had been coco pops, and no matter how well he had memorised Choco's position on the back...he still liked to find him again every morning. But, when he had finally become awake enough that he could see...he found he couldn't read.

He had blinked, and tried the read the instructions to find Choco again.. And realised it hadn't helped. The words scrambled in front of his eyes, becoming a foreign language.

And he freaked.

He jumped back, stumbling into the wall and breathing heavily. He looked for something else to read, hoping he had actually tried to read the Spanish instructions on the box, and not something his mind had conjured.

But the calendar on the wall was the same.

And Stiles knew this. He knew this feeling, this situation....it was like the Nogistune was taking over again.

He ran from the room, stumbling and falling until he crashed onto the living room floor. He gasped, his body tensing and arching from the ground, his hands clenching into fists. His breathing was as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

He was having a panic attack.

He tried to calm down, harsh breathing echoing back at him from the floorboards. He tried to think of a good enough excuse for this strange occurrence. One so good that he could convince himself.

But it didn't work.

What if the bastard wasn't dead?...What if he had just been waiting, dormant, within Stiles' subconscious this whole time? What if it was going to happen all over again? He couldn't calm down, couldn't stop....He couldn't even help himself.

And with that thought haunting him, he slipped into oblivion.

 

______

Stiles had often thought about dying. Who didn't when they lived as dangerously as he did? He had pondered in which way his dangerous way of life would kill him. Maybe a misfired bullet, a stake and/or poison of some sort?

But not once had he thought he might die of something so mundane.

Not frontal-temporal dementia. Never anything so simple and so hatefully human.

But here he was, in hospital...in the exact same position his mother had been all those years ago. He was still undeniably numb. He knew what he had, but he didn't believe it.

He couldn't believe he was dying.

Even when he thought about his supernatural death...all occurred above age twenty. Not in his teens.

Not now...never now.

But he was dying, now. No 'whoops I didn't mean to', or 'give me some time'. No more second chances, no coming back from this.

He was going to die...in the exact same was his mother did.

And Stiles knew what that felt like to watch from the sidelines. He knew what his pack would feel like. But his dad...he knew his dad would probably never recover from this. He had only just begun to come to terms with Claudia's death after so many years...and Stiles knew his father would never get over his own death. He wasn't being vain or anything...quite the opposite. He didn't think he was very important, he wasn't any sort of supernatural being...but he was still himself.

And only a month ago he couldn't have laid claim to that at all.

He was still Stiles. He had family, he had friends....family and friends that would mourn him. Well...when he told them. He wasn't going to let them know...at least not yet. Because they would try and find some sort of cure. And he didn't want that. He didn't want them to suffer the endless hoping...hoping something was simply wasn't there.

But, still... wasn't fair that they had to discover this now. Not after they had already lost two others in the span of two days. Like, geeze, he had only just survived.

And now that was all for naught.

He wasn't going to die horrible heroic deaths like theirs. He was going to die, slowly, painfully and like a damn human.

No heroic 'die for my friends' or 'die for my Alpha'. Just 'die because my brain can't get it's shit together'.

Like, they could have found it earlier at least. He could of had more time like his mother did. Because, with her, they found it at the beginning. But, with little ol' him, it was a wee bit too close to the end - end meaning his actual death, just f.y.i - for his liking. Turns out he'd had it since he was about fifteen. But that was the point it actually manifested...he'd carried the disease in his DNA his whole life.

And he couldn't stop himself from wishing that they had actually checked his brain properly after the whole incident with the Nogitsune. Not just assuming he was fine because the fox spirit had messed with the first scan.

Because if they had, none of this would have happened. Allison, Aidan...if he had had his way. And that would have been the defining factor. If he had. Because his friends would never let him have his way. They never really had. Not with his wacky ideas and stupid plans. Most just learned to tune out when he spoke.

And that was because, if he had his way...he would have let the Oni stab him through. Both the Nogistsune and himself, together.

Yes...he would have let himself die. Let himself bleed out and let death claim him. Happy to be of service, actually. If he had known he was already dying, he would have killed himself just to make this all go away.

Just so nobody else would have to suffer. So nobody else would have to die.

Yep, that was him. Knight in shining armour. Well, fragile human wrapped in sheets of metal pretending to be kinda tough...and since it was him, he definitely believed that analogy a whole lot more.

Because that's all he was. Just 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. No muscle, no strength, no supernatural powers.

Just him. Just Stiles.

Just a human boy that had been dying for a long time.

 

______

 

"Oh god Stiles" somebody moaned from beside him. He frowned, only semi-conscious as he tried to understand his surroundings.

He was in his own bed. He knew because he couldn't smell the bleach in his sheets. It was warm and smelling slightly of teenage boy...not sickness and death

It was comfortable. Like home. Nothing like that stupid hospital.

Yes, they let him out. Simply because there was nothing they could do for him. Just give him some pain killers and saying to call only if his symptoms got worse.

He remembered walking out of that hospital on his fathers arm, pitiful eyes following him. All the nurses staff knew his family...knew their curse. And they knew it had gotten Stiles' too. Even Melissa knew...but Stiles had made her promise to tell Scott. And she couldn't exactly say no to a pleading, crying and dying boy. Ha, crying and dying. He had always been a fan of alliterations and word twisters. Puns being his absolute fave.

He had to be sure to tell Scott this one.

But anyway, back to the person by his bedside.

Stiles gingerly opened his eyes, and surprisingly not feeling trapped or claustrophobic. Cause that what he felt like all the time lately. His disease made him feel so trapped within his own body. Within his own mind

"Why is it always you?" Was another whimper... His dad.

He knew that tone. It was the same tone he had used as he mourned over his mothers body.

The tone of somebody that was losing everything.

Stiles immediately screwed his eyes shut. Falling limp and pretending to be asleep. Yes, it was cowardly (And besides, Stiles has always been a bit of a wimp) but he did not want to talk to his dad. Not yet at least. He didn't want to talk to his father about his death. He didn't want to talk about it at all. He didn't even want to think about it.

He just wanted to ignore it, maybe even pretend it wasn't there.

That's him, classic Stiles. Ignoring a problem and hoping it would go away. But death would not simply leave him alone because he wanted it to. Nah...it was too much of a bastard.

He wasn't too far gone. He didn't need anyone to make decisions for him yet. He was almost healthy. He could act just fine...he could be a teenager for the next few weeks until it became too obvious.

And so he bloody would.

____

School was generally fine.

Like, occasionally he would have moments when he felt like everything was pressing in on him and suffocating him, but yeah.

As fine as he could be.

But he still kept and eye on Scott. His best friend looked relatively okay, if a little quiet. But Stiles didn't miss the grief-filled looks he sent at the seat Allison used to sit in. The one with flowers that sat on the top.

A bit hard to miss.

But yeah, the girls had kinda banded together. An unlikely friendship had formed between Malia and Lydia...despite their differences. Kira had become more comfortable around them, even smiling at them when they spoke. But Issac...he was still smack-dab in the middle of his grief, an end far from sight. He hardly came to school, and when he did he just moped around Scott and Stiles.

Stiles hoped he would smile again soon...or at least before Stiles' died.

That would be nice.

But yeah. His death...he honestly hardly thought about it, but it always lurked in the corner of his mind...just waiting. He knew it was coming,and the real bad symptoms and only just started to taper around the edges. Like sometimes he stumbled though his speech, but thankfully nobody noticed...he was known for his stuttering and spluttering. But sometimes, he had these random muscle spasms that left him terrified, simply because of the fact that he couldn't move properly. That he had no control over his own body...Like he hadn't had enough of that before.

But it felt exactly like sleep muscle paralysis all over again.

And he was _really_ scared.

Because all it did was remind him that he wasn't going to be around much longer.

____

 

He had to have another hospital visit.

He had woken up, and he couldn't move. It was exactly like when the Nogitsune was taking over this mind. But it wasn't just a single terrifying second where his conscious was awake but his body was not....

It wasn't just a moment of pure and unadulterated terror...No. He was not that lucky this time around.

Because he couldn't move for five minutes. And it was five whole minutes of terrified screaming and crying.

And so his spooked father had taken him into the hospital....making him miss Friday of school. And he just knew his friends would ask questions.

But he really didn't want to deal with that right now.

He just left the hospital after they did virtually nothing, only reminding him of how much time he had left and telling him some other useless information.

All he wanted was to live, damnit. Live in this crazy world with his crazy friends. He didn't want to be another friend that just died. Just another friend which slowly faded away and was left behind.

But it was inevitable. They would live, and he would die.

And they would all move on. Grow up. Get married. Have kids. Have a life.

Sure, they would visit his grave. He was sure they would tell him of all the things they were getting up to. All their adventures without him.

But he wouldn't be there to experience it with them. He would be just a decaying corpse buried beneath their feet. A seventeen (eighteen, if he was really lucky. But then again...luck had never really been Stiles' forté) year old corpse...just rotting away.

...and he was never going to have a family.

Stiles stifled a sob, burying himself into the sheets of his bed as he tried to cover up his tears. He would never marry. Never have somebody to love. Like sure, Malia was beautiful...but Stiles didn't love her yet.

And he never would get the chance. He would die before he could make a decision like that. But, Stiles was never one for making good decisions anyway. He always screwed something up.

But he would never have time to love her. Or love anyone. He would never fall in love, never get his heart broken...never marry.

Never have a child.

Stiles had always wanted a child, mostly just so he could prove he could be better a parent than his mother or father. Her death and his drinking weren't really the appropriate steps to being a good parent...Like, first of all, you had to actually be there...

Just to prove that the Stilinski's were capable of living without tragedy.

 

And now he would never have any of that. No little Stiles's...no more Stilinski's. He was an only child. And with him the Stilinski name would die.

No more Stiles, no more Stilinski's. He would be the last.

 

And that made it so much worse. He would never live to be the man his mother would have wanted. He would not live the life she thought he would get. He would never surpass her. He would die of the same disease...but earlier. Like, hell. She got a husband and child before it claimed her. She got to experience that part of life, no matter how short her actual experience was. And Stiles would never know what that felt like. Never know what it felt like to have somebody rely on you. To be somebody's anchor...their rock.

He would forever be Stiles.

The boy with far too much to say and not enough life to live.

 

______

 

"Stiles?" He heard from behind him. He was standing by the school's front doors on Monday morning. Stiles turned to see his friend come up behind him, and began preparing himself for extensive questioning. He'd ignored all Scott's calls over the weekend and didn't explain his absence. Scott was bound to be worried.

 

Scott stalked up to him, fitting the image of the predator he was. He grabbed Stiles by his shirt.

"What the hell happened to you? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He growled deeply, eyes flashing red for a second.

He was really angry.

"Oi, Stiles! Answer me now befor-" he said, before he cut himself off abruptly. He frowned, tilting his head. He sniffed the air discreetly. Stiles only watched him, blinking occasionally. He was used to this.

It was Scott catching a scent.

The boy frowned, sniffing all around him. Stiles stayed still, foggy mind running for possibilities but coming up with nothing as his gears faltered and died.

...and now he couldn't even by Scott's Robin. He couldn't even use his intelligence anymore. He couldn't think of anything useful or specific...only just general things like "is it something supernatural?"

Some sidekick he was turning out to be.

 

"What the hell is that?" Scott asked abruptly, his frown deepening. Stiles felt compelled to respond with something helpful. Too bad his brain had other plans.

And he had always been fairly horrible with paying attention to important matters. This dementia really a didn't help his cause.

"Ah...what does it smell like?" He asked, shaking his head a little to try and clear his mind and think of something that could actually help them. Scott had moved closer, pretending to hug Stiles as he sniffed the air behind him. Stiles felt his best friend inhale deeply, nose at the back of Stiles' head.

"I-it smells like...death." He hesitated, shocked.

Stiles jumped, pulling himself from Scott's hold frantically, brushing himself of spastically.

There should be now way that Scott could smell his fatal disease...right? Werewolves weren't that good...right?

But he decided not to take any chances....too late that Scott had noticed his weird behaviour.

"Stiles?" He questioned, watching his friend wearily. Stiles shook his head, attempting to smile as he grasped the straps of his backpack with both hands.

"That's a creepy thing to say." He remarked, trying to seem nonchalant about his behaviour.

"Stiles?" he almost growled. "What do you know?"

"Oh, me? Nothing. I am completely unaware of whatever you are referencing" he tried, but inside he was panicking. He wasn't ready to tell Scott yet.

Scott only looked him over quizzically...not buying what he was selling.

"So um...I'm gonna go inside. Like, you know...gotta get to the locker before the bell goes." He said, before fully turning away and waking quickly towards the door and slipping inside the building.

And Scott followed him every step. Stiles weaved through crowds, trying to access his uncanny ability to get lost.

But it didn't work, and Scott kept up with him using his supernatural senses.

And then the bell rang, but Stiles didn't stop. He just kept walking at a pace just shy of a jog. He couldn't rouse suspicion but he really couldn't have Scott finding out.

He dashed into a empty bathroom just as the hallway was emptying. He ran into the small room, looking around for as second before jumping into a stall and slamming the door shut, locking himself in with shaking hands. He threw his bag in the corner, hands trembling with adrenaline and mixed brain signals. He climbed on top of the closed toilet, head dizzy and limbs shaking. He braced himself against the graffitied stall walls, his right hand covering up two names in a heart, dated back six years.

And he idly wondered if they were still together.

But then he heard Scott enter the bathroom, and he attempted to get his thoughts in order.

"Stiles!" The werewolf growled, and Stiles wished he could be anywhere but here...just so he wouldn't have to face his best friend.

"Tell me what's wrong Stiles!" He growled, banging the stall door so hard it wobbled, and the lock jangled dangerously.

Stiles stumbled forward, hands slamming down on the lock before it could fall free. He breathed heavily, leaning his forehead against the door to stabilise his thinking and breathing. He could hear his best friend just on the opposite side of the door...only a inch from him.

He heard Scott inhale again.

"Oh god Stiles...please...tell me why you smell like death?" He gasped, dread in his voice. Stiles closed his yes, scrunching them tight. There was no escape now...Scott would never let this go.

And besides...he deserved to know that his best friend was dying.

He stood on his own feet heavily. He gently lifted the lock, opening the door to see Scott staring at him, bag cast to the floor haphazardly.

He looked at this best friend fully and completely...meeting his gaze with his own. He let Scott analyse him, let his gaze carefully pick him apart and expose the boy Stiles had become.

Scott stood for a moment, just looking at the bone-deep tiredness that showed under his eyes and throughout his broken body. He looked at the way Stiles held himself, like he only kept together because of his skin and bones and nothing else.

He looked so fragile...so broken.

"I'm dying, Scott" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears trickled down his face and he whimpered pitifully, looking at the tiled floor...unable to hold his best friends gaze.

Scott stood, shocked. No...not Stiles. Not him. Not after Alison.

Not again.

"W-why?" He finally gasped, choking as tears pricked at his eyes.

"...same as my mom." Stiles said, and would not have been heard if not for Scott's superior hearing. His head was down, and Scott could feel his pain... even from this distance. He grabbed Stiles, smashing him into his chest.

He started crying...sobbing, burying his head into Stiles' shoulder. He could smell the honey scent...but also the death. The dark and foreign smell of death, destroying his best friend.

He frantically grasped at Stiles', his hands scrambling all over the planes of his back and face burying into his honey - only honey, damnit- scent. He wanted to feel and absorb everything Stiles. Feel his warmth, feel his skin, smell his scent, hear his voice.

 

He tried to absorb everything before it all went away...trying to experience a lifetimes worth of everything that was Stiles, which he sudden realised they would never get. Stiles had always been his anchor to normality. Someone that would never leave his side, no matter how hard it got. He had been a constant presence that Scott thought he would have his whole life... And had been rudely confronted with the fact that that was never going to happen.

Stiles was going to leave him...he was going to die.

 

Stiles hung off him, letting Scott take in as much of him as possible. Letting him cling to his body. He knew that Scott was struggling to make sense of everything. Trying to understand what the hell was going. Because Stiles sure as hell was exactly same. And he'd known for at least a month.

 

"Oh _god_....oh my god." Scott moaned, his heart feeling like it was slowly being crushed.

"We-we have do something Stiles. Anything" he said, still holding onto his best friend, head on his shoulder as they embraced.

"...We can't Scott. We can't do anything...Not this time." Stiles answered quietly, his eyes closed as he tried to keep it all at bay.

 

"But we have to do something!" Scott exclaimed, pulling away to look at his friend. Shocked at the ever enthusiastic Stiles' melancholy reaction.

But the other boy wouldn't meet his eyes, looking down at the floor again.

"We need to help fix you Stiles! I can't just let you die!" He yelled, confused and heartsick.

Stiles head snapped up, leveling Scott with an angry and piercing glare.

"You can't _fix_ me Scott!" He screamed, honey and chocolate eyes blazing. "I'm not broken! I. Am. Dying!" He continued, illustrating every syllable.

Scott visibly flinched at his anger and pain. He seemed to deflate at his words, slumping.

"...But you are my anchor Stiles. I can't loose you too." Scott whimpered. Stiles knew by 'too' he ment Allison.

There it was again. Anchor. He knew he wasn't an anchor. He wasn't stable enough of a person. But he'd always hoped one day that he would be. But today was not that day. And it never would be.

Because Stiles was gonna frick'n die.

"I'm not an anchor Scott. I'm not very reliable or strong." He reminded, eyes softening but mind running on empty.

"No Stiles." He growled. "You are strong, buddy...just not compared to us with our unfair advantage. Your mind stayed strong throughout out the Nogitsune possession and you came through fighting. No normal human could do that. You may not be physically strong but you are mentally strong, Stiles." Scott finished, staring into Stiles eyes.

Eyes he knew he would miss.

 

"Yeah, well explain that to my brain. It's killing itself." Stiles remarked after a moment, letting his eyes close momentarily as he tried to stop the world from spinning...Emotions could really take a lot from him.

"Stiles?" He heard. Stiles opened his eyes, only to find himself on the floor. He must have slid down the wall without noticing.

He really was slipping from reality.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked frantically, at his knees by Stiles' side. Stiles felt his best friends hands on his shoulders, and he could feel the werewolves panic like stinging acid leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Nah...I mean yeah...my brain is kinda ka-put right now." He struggled, trying to stay within the fragments of reality, eyes rolling back into his head.

"Are...are you in pain?" Scott asked, trying to grasp his hand between his own and take away whatever he was feeling.

Because he would do anything just so Stiles could stop being like this.

"Why?..." Scott questioned, fumbling with a Stiles' limp hand, as though he could force his power to work just through sheer willpower. "...Why can't I take your pain Stiles?"

"Not...no...can't help...can't take away this type of pain." Stiles managed, keeping his eyes shut and grasping his knees tightly. Using the pressure make his mind focus on something in the present and not in the endless abyss it seemed to have access to. Focus on the feel of the denim beneath his fingers, the coarse fabric. What it felt like against the skin on his legs and his fingers.

"-iles? Buddy? Please come back...please stop....you're scaring me." He heard.

He felt hand on his shoulders, tightening.

He focused on that. On the pressure and the warmth of those hands. He grounded himself on that feeling, using it as his own anchor to his life. On this moment, on this life...and not something far far away. He opened his eyes, using his vision to focus on his friend in front of him. He looked at Scott's scared expression, the furrow of his brows and the firm line of his lips.

 

"H-hey" he said, attempting to smile as his reality became a bit clearer.

"Don't 'hey' me!" Scott exclaimed, shaking his limp form a little. "What the hell Stiles. That was terrifying. It was like you weren't even here!"

"I'm...I'm sorry" Stiles whispered, barely keeping his head up.

"Oh god Stiles, don't do that to me." Scott said, leaning forward and pulling Stiles into his chest again. Stiles just let Scott embrace him, resting his head momentarily on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment.

"What are you going to do Stiles?" Scott whispered into his ear, hands tightening and grabbing Stiles shirt into his fists as he clung to the boy that was his brother.

"...I really don't know" Stiles answered honestly.

Because he, the plan maker and mathematics extraordinaire...

...really did not know what to do anymore.

 

______

 

Stiles was trapped.

Not trapped like in a box or trapped in a maze. No, not literally.

But it sure as hell felt the way.

His mind was squeezing and cornering him in much the same way as the Nogistune. He felt claustrophobic, and he couldn't escape it.

Because he couldn't escape himself.

 

And he was fading away. The dementia was slowly tearing down everything that was him, like ripping tiny bits of wallpaper from a wall....So. Very. Slowly.

But his seams were all undone and he was fading fast...

And it was about time his friends knew that he wasn't going to be around much longer.

 

______

 

Stiles had been very pleased at his ability to hide his illness from his friends.

Deaton had given him a potion to cover up his 'impurities' in his scent, to remove the festering smell of death from his body. People knew that there was something wrong. Obviously. It didn't take a genius to realise there was something wrong with Stiles. He hadn't exactly been acting like himself and had been a whole lot more reserved the past few months.

And that really wasn't like him.

Stiles was bubbly, exuberant and like 86% sarcasm. He never stopped talking, and his voice was like a lively backdrop most of the time. He had ADHD, and was forever bouncing off walls.

But not anymore.

So when he brought them all over on one Sunday...he knew they could smell that something was incredibly wrong. They could smell the sickness in his house, the scent clinging to the couches in a way he could never hope to remove.

It was inevitable that it would come down to this.

He looked in the mirror, assessing his body. He bit his lip to prevent it from trembling at the sight of himself. He looked so sick.

He hadn't really had a good look since he had learned that he was dying. Didn't really want to. But now, he had to. At least so he would know what he friends would be staring at. His whole body looked gaunt. It was the only way to explain it. His cheeks, his arms, his stomach. He could see just about everything through his white tee-shirt and track pants...since they did nothing to hide what he'd become.

Because this was him. This was Stiles.

Stiles 2.0. Dementia addition.

His body shouldn't have suffered this much. But he let it. He knew it was all in his head, but that didn't change the fact that he still felt ill. Still felt sick.

It was his brain for peats sake. His brain was what made his body function. So it wasn't a surprise that when his brain was dying, so would be his body.

Simple human biology...which Stiles sucked at, unsurprisingly.

Haha, good one world.

But this was it. The moment his friends would finally understand what the hell was wrong with him. He'd been telling so many little white lies that it was getting hard to keep up. He was tried of running, tired of hiding. He was ready to just let go. Let it go and let his friends know. Ha, that rhymed. Another one to tell Scott....maybe he should write a list. He won't be able to speak later on in this little event known as his death.

Anyway... Get back on task Stilinski.

He clenched his fists, keeping his mind focused on what was about to happen. It was important, damnit. He would need his mind in complete function to address it properly.

Too bad he didn't have that luxury anymore.

But he would keep as much mind as he had control over on this. It wouldn't help if he spazzed out when telling them why he was, in fact, spazzing out.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hiding them from the mirror.

Time to get to work.

He walked out of his room, bracing himself against the walls as he made his way - achingly slow -to the stairs. He knew the wolves and coyote could hear his footsteps, so he tried to level them to a almost normal pattern. Which was a major fail. He dragged the weight of his legs heavily, feeling every step like a marathon. Not only did he suck at walking now...but the weight of the situation was bearing on him heavily.

He continued on, reaching the stairs and gripping the railing tightly. He slowly took each descending step. Stepping with both feet on each step, before going down another and repeating. He could remember running down these stair with his mother, rushing down the wooden steps to greet his father at the door after a day of work. He couldn't remember the thunks it made as they ran down the stairs together, racing each other.

Of course, she always let him win....but that the kind of mother she was.

...and he hoped he had lived to be the son she deseved.

He kept going, pushing forwards until he reached the bottom of the stairs. He braced a hand against the wall, breathing heavily as his mind tried to while away in a flurry of thoughts and feelings.

"Stiles?" He heard whispered at his side...as though not to startle him.

Scott.

The older boy was walking from the living room...Stiles destination. Stiles looked at him, and the distance between the stairs and the room. Scott looked at him sadly, smiling a little. Stiles held out his opposite arm, supporting his weight with one shaking hand on the banister. Scott walked up to him purposefully, ducking under Stiles extended arm.

"We'll do this together." He said, determination filling his expression.

But Stiles only smiled, focusing on the task ahead.

They walked slowly, Scott slowly taking more and more of his weight without his notice. But Scott never complained. And he was never one to complain anyway.

They got to the door, just out of sight for the people no doubt sitting in the room. Scoot levelled a sidelong glance on his best friend, and Stiles looked forwards, mouth a grim line and eyes fierce with determination.

And then they walked through.

Expressions of the people morphed from confusion to pain almost immediately. Stiles knew they could smell it. Smell the pain and the struggle....and the death. The scattered scents finally finding their source.

Stiles.

Suddenly everything made sense. All the lies and all the hidden pain....everything was in the open. And Stiles had thought he might of felt relief at not having to hide anything anymore...but as soon as it left him, it was overtaken but guilt.

"Stiles?" Malia gasped, keening lightly she she was overtaken by the scent of death.

Stiles only smiled sadly, letting Scott carry him the the sofa..sitting down next to him. Stiles relaxed into the sofa, mind reeling as he tried to compress all this pain and guilt. push it too the back of his mind so he could think.

Scott gripped his forearm, giving his support.

 

"I'm dying" he said after a moment.

"Yeah, we can bloody smell it and see it all over you!" Derek growled.

Stiles sighed. He had no energy to argue with the wolf.

"Yes Derek, I am aware of my stench. Thank you for addressing the elephant in the room so eloquently." He started, before taking a deep breath.

"I have the same disease as my mother. And if you didn't know, it's fronto-temperal dementia...and if you also didn't know...its incurable. I have been dying since I was fifteen."

There was silence for a moment, and Stiles found comfort in Scott's touch as they all absorbed his words.

"...how long have you got?" Lydia asked, tears in her eyes.

 

He looked at her, watching her cry. He remembered the time he told her that she looked beautiful when she cried.

She still did.

Scott nudged him absently, bringing him out of his unhelpful thoughts.

"Um...probably not long. I could live another few years, but I really don't think I will." He said, looking down at the carpet so he wouldn't have to look into any of their eyes. "I...I can feel it. I can feel death reaching out to me. I know I don't have that much time...and I think you can all guess the same. So I really don't know...but only a few months, I'd think." He babbled, trying to formulate clear and concise sentences. But his mind wouldn't stop jumping around, thoughts and words bouncing uselessly in his head.

"I'm...I'm sorry." He said, fighting back his own tears. "I didn't mean to do this to you all...not after Allison....I just thought you should know."

"There's no need to be sorry, Stiles." Issac said, speaking for the first time in a long time. Stiles lifted his eyes, smiling slightly at the wolf.

"Death happens all around us, but not too us, remember?" Lydia suddenly spoke, looking squarely at Stiles. Stiles flinched, before nodding. "We'll all hoped that was true, Stiles. But we can't all escape death. Not all of us. There will always be somebody who doesn't make it. Al..." She choked, swallowing. Kira rubbed her back with pain evident on her own features. "Allison didn't make it. Neither did Aiden. Or Erica or Boyd. Death will always happen to somebody. Somebody in this world will always be dying You can't help if it chooses you. It's not your fault. It can never be your fault Stiles."

She pierced him with her unwavering emerged stare.

"Don't you ever blame yourself for our pain. And you can't blame us for feeling pain. You can't blame us for loving you, for caring about you. We've been through a lot together...and we will mourn you." She said, before sniffling and resolving into tears which she obviously tried to fight.

 

Well. She had always known too much about Stiles. Knew what he was feeling and what he was thinking.

He should have expected that. But Lydia wasn't exactly predicable. And so everyone sat in silence, only the sounds of crying and pain echoing around the room.

So...that was it.

Everything squared away. Everything sorted out. Everything was prepared and ready.

...so why didn't it feel that way?

_____

 

Stiles couldn't read or write anymore.

So school was an absolute no-no. He wasn't like he could learn anything anymore.

Actually, on that note...he realised he didn't know why he continued with school when he found out he was dying. He should of just disappeared on some crazy adventure, never to be seen again. He should have enjoyed the last months of his life.

But, then again...these past months did contain some of the best moments of his life. Moments where he couldn't feel any pain or trauma...but could reap the benefits of the attention he received. But... In these months he had everyone he loved (even Derek, damnit) by his side, and everyone would trip over themselves to do whatever he asked.

And it was nice to finally be paid attention to...because it wasn't really something he'd experienced much in his life.

So yeah...life was pretty decent for Stiles Stilinski.

...and it would have been absolutely perfect if he wasn't dying.

 

_____

 

Stiles' ventral insula was atrophying.

He wouldn't be able to react to circumstances at all from now on. Would be able to stop himself from falling or walking into walls. He had to really on others to make sure he wouldn't fall flat on his face.

No more running. No more energy. No more bouncing from wall to wall in typical Stiles fashion. And even though it was only a small potion of what this disease would eventually do to him...

It felt like they had already lost Stiles.

Because now he was just a shell of the person on he once was. There was not much more to him than what met the eye.

And that hurt.

 

Dementia at seventeen was probably one of the worst ways to go.

 

Like, dementia was supposed to only happen when the body and mind started to reach a point where they could no longer function properly. Like old age. Stiles should never be dying like this. Or at all, really. Seventeen wasn't a usual a time for death..  
The chances of him inheriting this disease were like 1 in a billion. It was totally unheard of.

But, then again, Stiles had always been a little different.

With other diseases... The person at least still stayed as themselves, they didn't change into something completely different.

Into something that wasn't them.

And with other diseases...they didn't have to watch as their friend became a stranger. Yes, they would watch them die...but at least they would be whole when they died. But Stiles....Stiles was reduced to shattered pieces of the boy he once was...just a bunch of jumbled bits and pieces, nothing matching or fitting in the way it was supposed to. One minute he was loving and warm, the next he was violent and cold. Some days he didn't move at all....and other days, rare days, he actually got out of bed. But never for longer than a few minutes.

But days like that were dwindling fast.

And Stiles already had one foot in his grave.

_____

Today was a good day for Stiles.

But, not even his good days could be perfect. Today, it was good as in 'Hey look, I can formulate words today!'. But not as in 'Yay! I can't feel much pain'

Because he could feel a whole _f*cking_ lot of pain.

 

Scott was laying down in bed next to Stiles, watching his best friend as he slept. They had been talking just a minute ago, but Stiles had fallen asleep mid-conversation...just straight out unconscious. And it would have been humorous if Scott didn't know that it was a sign that his body couldn't keep on living for much longer.

And so Scott ended up just watching him sleep. He would wake up soon anyway.

He'd been with Stiles all Fall Break, but school was starting again tomorrow. And, he really didn't want to leave. Because it felt like Stiles was going to die soon, like this week soon. He was no Banshee, but he knew enough about his Best Friend to see when he was on death's doorstep.

But don't get him wrong...this was the worst feeling in the world. And in some way, it felt worse than Allison's death. And that had been like getting stabbed through the heart five thousand times. But, Allison had died so quickly, so most of the mourning happened after her death.

But with Stiles....Scott had to mourn him before he was even gone.

You can not watch your best friend - your brother - die without feeling grief.

And so, it was in moments like this, with both boys side by side...that Scott allowed the grief to surface. He let it rise like an ocean tide from inside him, before letting it crash over him and consume him. Let it destroy him. And he always made sure to put the pieces back together before Stiles woke up.

But, for now...he would grieve.

He clutched his chest as the wave hit. He felt it overwhelm him and he struggled to breathe - to think - under the onslaught of emotions. But, unlike his wolf...grief was not something that could be controlled.

And so he let himself drown.

 

He sobbed, hands ripping at his shirt like he could claw at his chest. Ripping himself apart and destroying his heart....just to make the pain go away. He wanted to touch Stiles. He wanted to hold him, embrace him...love him. But he couldn't. He would wake Stiles up, and the spell would be broken. And besides, his touch couldn't do him anymore good than the dull pressure of the bed.

Because his touch couldn't take away any of Stiles' pain.

Scott had grown so used to his pain-taking touch, and it became part of him. It was strange, but he embraced it. And he had never felt pain that he couldn't take away. But now, all he could do was watch. Just watch Stiles - his best friend - die, not being able to so a single thing. And he had never felt so useless.

He could do nothing more than be a warmth beside Stiles, just hoping that it could help him in some way. Even if it was to just sooth his dying mind and bring comfort to his his suffering body.

He could do even less than human doctors.

All he could do was lay beside him, and hope his presence would do something his powers could not. Because if it was Stiles, he would do anything. Do anything for the boy that understood him, accepted him, cared for him....and never left his side.

Even if it was completely and physically impossible. He would do it.

Because, if Stiles was anything, then he was the only thing in this world that deserved to live. Everyone commended Scott on never leaving a friend behind, on always finding a way to keep fighting. But he would never be able to do anything without Stiles. Stiles was his anchor. Stiles was to one that took the blunt of the force if it meant that Scott wouldn't have to. He brought Scott up from the ruins and gave him life.

Nobody was as pure and selfless as Stiles. He avoided violence at all costs, and would do anything to keep his friends alive.

And, if he was to be honest....Scott looked up to him.

Because even if he was a simple human with no powers, he was bloody Stiles Stilinkisi.

A warrior, a friend, a brother. He would be anything you wanted him to be. Even if it meant he would die in the process. His loyalty was fiercer than any werewolf or Nogitsune or anything. He would fight it if it meant Scott would stay himself. If it mean they could all would live normally again.

Prime example being when he survived that vicious Nogitsune. Just a simple 17 year old human, fighting off a thousand year old trickster spirit. And that thing really had its claws dug deep into him, its desire for vengeance as strong as it was old... But not strong enough to fight off their little band of miss-fit superheroes.Because their love for each other was stronger than the fabric of the world. And nothing could ever break that.

Except death. Death always managed to f*cking win.

No matter what they did or how hard they tried...death always won. It always got in. It always found a way to stick around.

And just pick them off one by one.

Erica, Boyd, Allison, Aiden...Stiles.

And because it had gotten its poisonous claws into them...it managed to rip them apart. Pack members kept leaving, kept disappearing with every death. They got knew ones, of course. The supernatural was hard to keep at bay. But somebody always died. No matter how strong they got or how many pack members they had.

Somebody always ended up dead. And this time it would be Stiles. But this time, the little bastard so causally known as death, had decided to take him slowly...painfully. For him and everyone around him.

And Scott would not be surprised if the _whole_ pack fell to pieces with this death.

 

____

Lydia was doing everything in her power to not start screaming.

But the pressure of keeping everything inside was expanding past her limits. Pushing through her bones and tendons as it fought it's way out. She couldn't keep it all inside anymore.

Crying did little to help. And besides, she refused to cry....

Not after Allison.

But, she would not scream. The image in front of her was enough to want to make her jump of a cliff. She didn't need the explicit details of when and how to haunt her.

But God, all she wanted was to _scream_.

Just scream and scream until there was nothing left. Just let go. Just let it all out, make it so she wouldn't have to think anymore. So she wouldn't have to feel.

She couldn't stop thinking...She didn't want to think. She didn't want to remember.

But her mind kept wandering back to the little boy in third grade with a crush as big as the sun.

The boy with a backpack to big for his body, making him look even smaller than he was. The little ordinary boy with bright honey eyes. The boy whose eyes followed her every move. The boy that loved her since third grade. The boy that had become a reliable young man. A boy that would do anything to keep her and everyone else safe...The boy that became her friend.

The boy that turned into this. The poor little boy that never had many friends. The poor little boy with so much love in his heart. The poor little boy with loyalty as fierce as his endless love.

A little boy named Stiles Stilinski.

The boy which now laid in front of her. The boy that was rendered mute and immobile by the disease which would soon take his life. And even without her scream...she knew that death was not far away. She could feel its presence in this room, the shadows dancing across the walls and covering everything in endless darkness...slowly creeping towards him as he lay so vulnerably.

She felt the sudden urge to protect him. To climb onto his bed and kneel over his body. To guard him. To fight away the creeping shadows lifting from the walls and reaching out to him. He wanted them all to leave him alone. She wanted to fight them off.

But, just because she saw them...it didn't mean they were something tangible.

Nothing could stop death. And she was one to know. So many times she had tried to stop a death from happening. And every single time all she did was find the body.

She could do absolutely nothing for Stiles.

She couldn't fight away those reaching trendils of darkness. She couldn't protect him. She couldn't help him. All she could do was watch him die. And that on its own was enough to make her want to scream. Scream for hell to open and swallow her whole. Scream so much her voice died and her mind broke. Just so she wouldn't have to feel every single moment of his death. Just so she wouldn't have to think of him in every breath, every beat of her own heart.

So she wouldn't have to wait. Wait until the heart she had once held faltered and died. Taking the boy that loved so much but lived so little, with it.

Because she would do anything if it would make all stop. She didn't want to feel his death. She didn't want his death to feel like apart of her was dying...when really it was just him.

Just him. Just Stiles.

Dying.

She didn't want the knowledge of his death...didn't want anymore than she already had. She couldn't have any more. She knew she wouldn't be capable of withholding any more pain than this. And so, not matter how much it hurt....she would not scream.

Not until her body gave out. Not until Stiles heart stopped beating. Not until Stiles breathed his last breath.

Not until her mind broke.

 

_____

 

"Keep talking" was the sudden voice in the relative silence.

"Stiles?" Scott questioned, unsure where the demand had come from. They were at Scott's house, playing video games. Well, they were. Stiles couldn't play much without getting confused and having to stop. And so they had lapsed into silence, only enjoying each others company. They just laid on the couch, looking at the ceiling.

"Please, Scott. I need something to anchor myself. Something to keep my mind here." Stiles ground out, and Scott sat up hurriedly. He hadn't realised that Stiles was slipping. He hadn't made a sound.

"Um..." Scott tried. "Remember that time I broke my arm?" He questioned.

Stiles grunted in confirmation, laid out on the couch next as Scott sat next to his head, leaning over him too look into his eyes as he talked.

"We were playing outside. I was being stupid as usual. We were climbing that tree, your remember that tree?" Stiles shook his head, and Scott was quick to rectify. He shouldn't remind Stiles of the memories he could no longer remember.

Good one Scott.

"It was a mulberry tree. It was like 7 feet high. We used to go their like every week after school."

Stiles didn't confirm that the was listening...but Scott just kept talking. Having a one sided conversation as he tried to keep his best friend sane.

He watched stiles eyes go in and out of focus as he struggled to keep to reality.

"We used to have mulberry fights. And our parents used to get so annoyed when we came home with mulberry stains on our clothes. It was impossible to get out. But the mulberries were yummy when they were in season. You used to eat so many until you were full, and had red juice staining your mouth. We used to chase each other, pretending to be vampires with the juice on our faces like blood. But that day were were climbing the tree. Going right up the the top were the branches were really thin and the mulberries were the best."

"You warned me to not be an idiot...but I still was. I feel out of that tree, whacking my arm on a the ground when I caught myself. I fractured my wrist and the cast was purple. My mother made it purple on purpose to I would learn my lesson. I remember that I only let you sign it. Everyone else wanted to but I only let you. You wrote it as big as possible, almost running up my whole forearm...."

And so he continued, talking on and on like Stiles used to.

But that was just another thing about Stiles that would be gone forever.

 

_____

 

Stiles laid on his bed, legs trapped in his sheets and body consumed by pain. He wanted nothing more than to cry out, to voice his indescribable pain.

But he couldn't even make a sound.

 

He just laid still, watching the profiles of his loved ones swirl through his vision and distort into nothing more blurs of colour. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry. But, even that barest of expression had been torn from him. And he couldn't remember what it was like to not feel pain. He couldn't remember what it was to live life without a excruciating throbbing echoing around inside his skull.

He couldn't remember much at all actually.

And he fought every moment against the will to just fade away. He fought away every thought of giving up with a memory of his own. His memory. A memory which he was learning to treasure...since it was fading so fast. He needed it to make him remember what he was fighting for. He needed something to fight for. But even that simple wish had turned into a never ending mantra as the pressure increased. Now it just felt like there was one single barrier of memories that kept it at bay. Kept the slithering darkness from consuming his mind.

Just his single most precious memories.

 

Like the time he met Scott. Just two little boys in a big world. Just two little boys in a sandbox with the world too big to comprehend. Or the last time he saw his mother. His healthy mother. The time were she had smiled at him. The time she said "I am proud to have been your mother." The last words she spoke. And the last words he spoke to his mother. Being a simple "I love you" but meaning so much more. Because not only did he love her with all he being, she was his world. That 'I love you' meant so much more than just expressing his love. It was thank you for raising me, for loving me. Thank you for bringing me into this world.

Thank you for being my mother. Thank you for your love, for your support...for my life.

A life that was just about to end. But Stiles would fight to his last breath. He would fight for this life his mother had given him. He would fight until he could not fight any longer. But then he would fight just a tiny bit more. But to make the point that Stilinski's weren't weak. Stilinski's did not give up. Stilinski's were strong.

Because his life would not be an easy conquest. Stiles was stubborn, and would be in both life and death. His life would not be an easy one to take. He would not die without a grand ceremony. He would not simply fade.

Because he was a Stilinski.

You could cut him. You could make him bleed. You could break his body. You could break his mind.

But you could _never_ shatter his spirit.

Could never harm his soul. No illness, no sickness and no disease could shatter a Stilinski's spirit. Nothing could make them break.

So, shove _that_ up your ass, Death.

Stiles Stilinski would not be your little bitch. He was weak. He was breakable. He was vulnerable. But you could never break him.

Because he was a _f*cking Stilinski_.

And he would not die by anyone else's terms but his own.

______

Stiles was fighting away the darkness, fighting it off with the smallest but most important things that made him who he was.

Made him Stiles.

 

_____

His name was Stiles Stilinski's.

He was Seventeen.

His fathers name was John.

His mothers name was Claudia.

His mother died when he was eight.

And he was dying the same way, eleven years later.

_____

Stiles was fading fast.

Well, at least this body was. And his mind too. But Scott knew Stiles would never let go that easily. He would not simply fade. He knew the stubborn little bastard was in there right now, fighting it until he had nothing to fight anymore. Because he would fight until he was dead. Just because they couldn't see it, it didn't mean it wasn't there. And Scott had always known too much to be healthy about his little bro.

So he would not stop fighting either. He would never stop fighting to grief until Stiles stopped fighting death. And only when he died would he let it out. Let it out and let everyone know.

Let the world know the beautiful soul it just lost, The soul it would never know.

 

______

 

His best friends name was Scott McCall.

His best friend was a werewolf.

They were in a werewolf pack.

They had many friends.

Stiles was not alone.

Stiles was alive.

...but not for very long.

 

_____

 

Malia was crying.

She couldn't help it. She couldn't be strong. Not when Stiles was dying right in front of her.

Not when the boy she cared so much about was going to leave her. Not when the boy she had promised to never leave behind was leaving her. Not the boy that had fought so hard for everyone he cared about. Not the boy that fought of a Nogistune from consuming him mind. Not the boy that had deflected everything. Not the boy that protected everyone to the best of his ability, despite the fact that he was a human living in a world ruled by the supernatural. Not the human that held her heart. Not the boy that held her virginity.

Not the boy she had only just learnt to love, just as she was loosing him.

 

______

 

He had a girlfriend.

Her name was Malia.

She was a WereCoyote.

She had saved him countless times.

He had only saved her once.

And he still didn't know if she had ever forgiven him for it.

 

______

 

Sheriff Stilinski could feel nothing else but guilt.

It ate away at him was he watched his son die.

The son who he had abused. The son that he had blamed.

Blamed because there was nobody else to. Blamed because he couldn't blame himself. And he felt horrible to this day because of it. He had never known how to fix things with him, and by the time he started to try...the boy had become independent.

He hadn't needed his daddy anymore.

 

So they had minimal contact, only just managing dinner together once a week. The rest of the time, Stiles had been doing what he usually did. Going to school and getting in trouble.

He'd hardly see his son...and that was probably how he had hid the secret of his friends that long. And what made it worse was that he was the Sheriff. He was supposed to be able to pick up details nobody else could...and yet he couldn't even notice that his son had been hiding that his best friend was a werewolf.So, not only was he a terrible father, he was a terrible cop as well. Terrible personal life and terrible career....What a life he lead. But he knew he deserved no sympathy. Everything that had happened was completely his fault. He just didn't know how to blame himself.

But, now with his son lying before him, dying... He was starting to grasp the concept.

He must wished it could have been different. He just wished he could just reset his life, just so he could do it properly. Just so he could find a way to avoid these tragedies that kept following him.

Because his wife was already dead. He didn't need his son to haunt him too.

But he would. They both would. Their memories would haunt him forever. He would think of them in every waking moment, in every step and in every breath that escaped his body. And he knew that was what he deserved. He deserved for their faces and their memories to haunt him. He deserved every moment of this pain he felt and every moment he would feel in the near future. He deserved the pain of loosing his whole family.

Because it was his fault that he let them die.

 

______

 

His dad was the Sheriff.

He saw bad things everyday.

He had hurt him.

He loved him.

He was a stranger to Stiles.

A stranger that was only just becoming a father again.

 

____

 

Derek couldn't feel anything.

 

He was numb.

He had always been a bit of a recluse. Actually....that was the perfect definition of his lifestyle. He'd never asked for these kids in his life. He lived alone for a reason.

Because everyone he loved died. Even that bitch that he had finally let inside his heart tried to kill everyone, and in turn killed him inside. And bitch number two just did the same, going for a classic. But he should be used to that. His relationships always ended horribly...usually with a death or two involved.

Kate killed his family. Jenna tried to kill his pack. And Paige had died because of him. So yeah, some boyfriend he was.

So he guessed he was allowed to be a recluse. He was allowed to hide away from the world that had done nothing but wrong to him. And that would have been perfect...if not for these stupid kids. They came into his life. Scott and Stiles beginning the flow. They came one after the other and suddenly he had gone from a recluse to a pack Alpha. And it had been halfway decent, despite his dislike for everything that breathed (Werewolves included). And he had not been completely innocent in the gathering of some of the individuals, he would admit....

But then the deaths started.

Erica, Boyd, Allison, Aiden....

And now Stiles.

Each one of their deaths were completely unexpected, even to a man like him, who knew death like an old friend. They just died without much ceremony, some without any notice...Some that were only found months later. But this death...he was not familiar with. A natural death. Not one caused by the supernatural. Just a completely ordinary death. And it just had to happen to the little human.

The little annoying human that always got on his nerves. The little annoying human that had no powers what-so-ever. The little annoying human that fought even without those powers, despite the odds that stacked against him. The little annoying human he had just begun to appreciate as a friend.

And he had to go and die.

It was like a slap to the face, reminding him that death had not left him alone...and would continue to do as it pleased.

And it just had to take the one that held a soft spot of his heart. Just had to take the one he wanted to protect the most. Instinctually, of course. He, unlike coyotes, did not leave his pack to die. He was more inclined to protect the weakest link. And Stiles was weak...to him, anyway. But for some reason the boy continued to prove him wrong. Stiles always found a way out of sticky situations, and still always found a way to make snarky comment along the way.

And it was honestly highly entertaining, (as well as moral changing, apparently) to watch.

But, he had never gotten his hopes up that Stiles would live. He was still the weakest link after all. He always thought he would die at some stage. Maybe he might of killed him, who knew? But he just didn't expect to be right. He didn't expect he would die within the first year....and of something so mundane.

Derek was not fond of the human race...and this death just reminded him why.

Humans were weak, vulnerable. They died so easily.

And he hated it. He wished they could all get stronger so he wouldn't have to so freely witness all this pain. But he guessed Stiles would never get strong. Derek never thought him one to somehow get stronger. Because he refused the bite. But that was never going to be Derek's decision anyway. And, besides...the boy had been dying long before he met Derek.

They just didn't know it.

And he'd smelled so ordinary when Derek met him, not at all smelling of the death that he did now. He had smelled like honey, a perfectly reasonable scent. But now it was clouded by the horrid stench of death. The stench that was Derek's only true companion. The stench that would never leave him alone. The stench that would never leave him.....never again.

And Derek knew he would still carry that scent of death long after Stiles died.

Because Stiles was the tip of the iceberg. He was the face of all the pain Derek felt. He was distinctive to Derek, be cuss she was human. He was weak and vulnerable....but he was strong in more ways than just physically. And Derek had admired that. So it hurt to see that the cause of his death would destroy that strength. It targeted his most valuable point, the thing that made him, him. It was taking away the thing that Derek had associated Stiles as himself.

Taking away his brilliant mind.

And to Derek...that hurt more than any physical pain.

Or any pain at all.

 

____

 

Derek was the eldest.

He used to be Alpha, but now Scott was.

He was a recluse with a habit of throwing Stiles into walls.

He was damaged, but he was admirable.

And Stiles liked him

Stiles had hoped that Derek might of felt the same...eventually.

But Stiles didn't have any time for 'eventually' anymore.

 

_____

 

Lydia couldn't take it anymore.

 

She could feel how close he was. She could feel it in her bones, in her blood, on her skin. And she wanted to just stand in a scalding shower, so it would all burn away. But she knew, that even then...she would still feel his death. It was more than just on her skin or inside her body....because it was also in her heart.

It was worse than any other death she had become aware of. Allison's only because hers was too quick and so unexpected.

But Stiles, she been expecting it for months. Months of waiting and not much else...Because she would never move on until he died. And even then, she probably would never move on.She wasn't capable of feeling all this pain. She couldn't take two friend deaths like this. Two deaths in one year.

She couldn't.

So she knew she would scream. She knew she would just explode, and she kinda hoped her soul would go with it.

Yes, just so she wouldn't have to feel all this pain anymore.

But she knew death might not even offer her solace. And she couldn't imagine what it would be like in the after life with millions of dead people. She didn't what to know what that would do to her. So, she guessed not even death would let her rest.

So she has decided to get out. When Stiles dies..that is. But only if her mind can function enough for that. She might be brain-dead by the time he left them.

But, either all.

Just as long as she can escape all the pain she felt.

 

_____

 

Lydia was their resident Banshee.

She could predicts deaths.

Stiles had a crush on her since 3rd grade.

She was beautiful.

But she knew too much for her own good.

And she always knew too much about Stiles.

 

____

 

Stiles was crying.

They had gasped when the tears started to fall. Fall from his blank - but so damn expressive - eyes and fall down his unresponsive face.

And every single person in the room wanted to cry with him. They had moved around his bedside, surrounding and supporting him...in his last moments. Because they knew this was it. This was the grand finale of Stiles Stilinski's life.

His upper body was still in the Sheriffs lap, head supported against his thigh. His tears stained the fabric, but nobody said anything. Scott held one of his arms, gripping it so tightly as if his grip could keep Stiles' soul with him.

Still, nobody said anything.

Issac was numb on the floor as Scott's feet, resting against Scott's legs and watching the boy die slowly. Kira sat at Stiles' legs , curled up on herself as she watched Stiles. Maila was holding Stiles other hand, laying next to his limp body with tears in her eyes. Derek stayed back, preferring to grip at the footboard with both hands than Stiles' body. He didn't want to cause the boy anymore pain. Lydia stood at Scott's side, hand gripping Scott's t-shirt as though she was using it to keep her anchored to the earth. Her eyes never left Stiles'.  
Stiles just stared off into the distance, his tears the only evidence of his pain.

Time wore on slowly, each minute feeling like hours. They couldn't comfort him anymore than this. They could only watch.

Scott whimpered at his side. Trying to take his pain on reflex...before remembering he couldn't. His pain was all in his mind, and Scott was useless to him. And so he just held on to the boy like a lifeline.

Nobody said anything, it was almost silent...if not for Stiles heartbeat.

Thump, thump, thump...

Scott listened attentively to every one, as did the other wolves and coyote. He relished in every beat, knowing exactly how limited they were.

Thump, thump, thump....

Lydia's quiet gasp of pain was heard only second before it happened.

It stopped.

Just mid-beat. The middle of life, the middle of a sentence...just gone.

His body loosened in his fathers arms, and his limbs in his friends grips suddenly weighed more than the world. Everything was completely still...completely silent. The silence was echoing around them like white noise, the loud silence filling up everything around them. Before everything came rushing back.

When they all realised that Stiles Stilinski was dead.

Grief like nothing they'd ever felt before came in like a tsunami. It hit them and drowned them all at once.

It destroyed them so utterly and so completely.

And then Lydia screamed.

Her piecing cry voiced the pain they all held, and her voice resonating with the agonising pain within their souls. Her scream voiced the sound of 7 hearts breaking. Seven hearts that would never heal.

Malia cried into Stiles shoulder, sobbing like a little girl. Issac only froze, limp like the body on the bed. Derek gripped the footboard in a iron grip, feeling the wood splinter and crack beneath his hands...just like his heart. Kira cried, hands gripping Stiles leg as though somehow it would make the pain stop. Scott threw himself over Stiles body, sobbing into his dead friends chest. Morning the loss he had felt as his own.

Because it was his own. He had lost his love of his life on just recently, and now he'd just lost the opposite half of his soul.

So all he could do was cry.

Lydia couldn't stop screaming. She screamed and screamed and screamed. She screamed because the pain was all too much. She knew too much, felt too much...Her heart was cracked, her body was broken and her mind was shattered. And she could do nothing else but scream.

Scream and scream and scream until there was nothing left.

.

The sheriff just held Stiles' body. Sobbing into his own chest as he looked down at his sons dead eyes. Looking into the eyes that were once a beautiful honey colour, into the eyes that had dulled to a mucky brown in his death.

The eyes that had held so much love and light. The eyes that held so many secrets.The eyes that trusted far too much.The eyes that always expressed too much love than the human body should hold.

The eyes that were now gone, along with his soul.

And so he cried aching, terrible sobs from the bottom of his decimated heart. He cried and he mourned.

Mourned the stranger that was his son.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is. This is my first fan fiction on this site, so forgive me if it doesn't look right. Thank you for reading and please leave a comment/kudos on your way out!
> 
> God Bless,  
> SephrinaRose


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